When the green room looks like a utility closet and the tables belongs to whoever dropped $3K on Dom Pérignon, it’s time to ask—who is the club really for?

In the ever-evolving landscape of nightlife, the term "VIP" has undergone a significant transformation. Once reserved for artists, performers, and the creative forces behind the scenes, VIP status is now predominantly a marker of financial prowess. This shift reflects a broader commodification of exclusivity—where access depends less on your role in the culture and more on how much you're willing to spend.

The world of electronic music has always prided itself on its underground ethos—a space where raw creativity and rebellion ruled the night. Yet today, some of the very artists once synonymous with underground credibility are raking in six-figure fees per performance. What’s more, the agencies representing these DJs are charging astronomical sums that not only inflate the cost of booking a set but also siphon off budgets meant for nurturing emerging talent.

I remember when clubs were real—back when we all had flip phones and there was no pressure to document every second. Nobody was out there snapping pics or trying to “feed their eye.” We went out to forget about everything, to just get lost in the night. You know how people always say “a night to remember”? The truth is, the most unforgettable nights are the ones we barely remember in details—they’re remembered by the feeling.

Producers, let’s be real—getting stuck in a genre is a slow creative death. It’s comfortable, sure. You’ve carved out a sound, built an audience, maybe even found some success. But the minute you start playing it safe, you stop growing.

Let’s be honest—music journalism is in a weird place right now. What used to be a space for deep critique, cultural discourse, and actual musical analysis has been reduced to a glorified hype machine. Algorithms dictate taste, PR-driven narratives flood the scene, and way too many publications are more concerned with clicks than content.